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The parmesan turns out to be a great idea.It crisps up nicely under the broiler and adds a good texture.When I’m done eating, I set my empty plate on the coffee table and settle back on the couch next to Bryson, who finished minutes prior.
“Perfect late-night snack,” he declares.
“Agreed.”I fold my hands in my lap and glance over at him.He’s tired, too; I can see it in his face.And yet still, I can’t seem to shake the feeling that something is off between them.
Despite my better instincts, I do what’s been ingrained into me for years: I apologize.
“Hey, Bryson?”
His eyes are closed.“Mhm.”
“I’m sorry.About earlier.”His eyes snap open and he sits up, but I continue.“I don’t really know what happened tonight, but it felt kind of weird and tense.If there’s something I did, I’m sorry.”
Bryson sighs and drops his face into his hands, briefly rubbing it before lifting his head again to look at me.“You didn’t do anything, don’t apologize.I’m the asshole who - I need to do a better job of handling my own shit.”
“But I don’t understand,” I say, probing his knee with my fingertips.“What does that mean?”
“Nothing,” he tells me.“I’m trying to work through something in my head and I got you all caught up in it, that’s all.”
I press my lips together.I’m dissatisfied, but he obviously isn’t in the mood to get into it, so I’ll stop.“Is there anything I can do to help?”
Bryson shakes his head.“It’s all good.”
I sigh, but ultimately nod.“Okay, but you can talk to me, Bryson.About anything you want.You know that, right?”
He smiles, warm and genuine, and in that moment it’s like tonight never happened.“Yeah, Carleigh,” he answers.“I know.”He extends his arm toward me.“Come here.I need a Carleigh-bear.”
I chuckle and scoot toward him, my laughter turning to a giggle when he hauls me into his lap.I hug him, feeling tall from my new perch on his thighs, and melt as his arms wind around me in return.It’s warm and cozy here, and I’m so tired; I rest my head over his shoulder and relax, thinking I could fall asleep if he let me.
Logically, I know this isn’t normal.I know that two friends shouldn’t be sitting like this.I shouldn’t be clutching onto him, tracing circles into the back of his neck with my fingernail, and he shouldn’t be holding the twist of my waist with his palm the way that he is.But we are, and it feels natural, comfortable, so when his left hand slides down my back and hooks under my thigh to hold me closer, I let him.I let his hand rub back and forth between my thigh and hip, let his palm curve around my ass, and I pretend not to notice something twitching ever-so-slightly beneath me.I thread my fingers into his curls at the back of his head, press a closed-mouth kiss to the side of his neck, and exhale in time with him, long and slow.
I don’t count how long I sit there in his arms; time doesn’t really seem to move at the same rate, anyway.Finally, I break the hug and lean back a bit in his arms.“I should go to bed,” I say, apologies in my voice.
Bryson’s eyes are searching mine, a darker blue than normal, but still as beautiful as they always are.“Same,” he says.My shirt has shifted in our embrace, the top of it slightly askew, and when he squeezes my ribcage his thumb rubs against the side of my right breast.“You really did look beautiful tonight,” he says softly, his thumb still stroking.“Sorry, I was a dick about it after.”
I can’t take this much longer; I’m going to combust soon if he doesn’t stop, if I don’t move, if we don’t part and go to bed.And I’m not ready to ruin a good thing.Not yet.“Water under the bridge,” I dismiss.“You looked good, too.”I lean forward and kiss his cheek, trying to ignore the brief, fleeting sensation of my breast pressing more fully into his hand.Finally, I pull away and slide off him, standing up.“Goodnight, Bryson.”
“Night, Carleigh,” he echoes.
